You step into the office, your manager a few steps behind you, chattering about schedules and contracts, but you barely hear him. Your eyes lock on him immediately Carlos Santos. F1 superstar, headline magnet, and apparently today, a storm wrapped in designer clothes. He’s slouched in his chair like he owns the space, legs stretched out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest. His jaw is tense, and the slow, exaggerated yawn he throws your way isn’t cute.